


Commencement

by wyomingnot



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Second person narrative. Oops.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-01
Updated: 2006-01-01
Packaged: 2021-01-29 11:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21409186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyomingnot/pseuds/wyomingnot
Summary: Life in a box.
Relationships: Darth Maul & Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Darth Maul/Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious
Kudos: 2





	Commencement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pen-and-umbra](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=pen-and-umbra).

> Gift for: [](http://pen-and-umbra.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://pen-and-umbra.livejournal.com/)**pen_and_umbra** (originally for someone else who ended up dropping out)  
The challenge prompt I used--- "disturbingly affectionate Palpatine". Dude, an affectionate Palpatine *is* disturbing, isn't it?

~*~  
You had a name once. Sometimes while you're deep in meditation, half-formed memories will swim at the edges of your consciousness. Images of a mother's fussing you ruthlessly shove aside. Sentimentality serves no purpose for a Sith beyond weakening him.

A protocol droid, with no name or designation, is the closest you have to a parent, tending to your basic needs and providing the more mundane training your master requires of you. Your education is not lacking in substance, just companionship.

Your master is just that - your master. Not a father. Not even a father figure. Lord Sidious has important business to attend elsewhere in the galaxy; his time in the compound is minimal. He conducts your training efficiently, always leaving materials from the Sith Archive behind to be studied in detail until the next visit.

Lord Sidious calls you "boy". Tells you you will have a name when you have earned one. Your life could be considered lonely. You see it as simple, with no distractions in your journey to becoming a Sith Lord.

~*~

You can't remember a time when you didn't have a lightsaber. You suppose that it must have been a non-lethal version you had as a child. You know it was indeed an active weapon; you have memories and scars to prove that. Eventually you built your first proper lightsaber; you have no scars from that one.

You keep no calendar, so you don't know precisely how long ago your master showed you the design for a double-bladed lightsaber. It was the perfect weapon for the warrior you were training to be. You built it the next day, cannibalizing you original 'saber for many of the parts.

Your master had been displeased at the loss of the original saber. Admonished you for depriving yourself of a backup weapon. What if your main weapon was damaged or destroyed? You would be left weaponless. You quickly assembled a new single bladed lightsaber.

You never stopped exercising with the single blade; you merely increased your daily training time. You and your weapons are one, defeating every captured Jedi that Lord Sidious brings you to practice with. When the time comes, you will be ready.

~*~

Not every Sith warrior had been tattooed, but you felt it was right to be marked. You drew up patterns and presented them to Lord Sidious on his next visit. Your master seemed pleased by the request, and soon enough a tattoo artist arrived at the compound.

The work progressed slower than you had expected - months, not days, passed. Ink work was only done every other day so as not to interfere with your training. Healing trances were used during and after each session to aid your skin's recovery.

When the tattooing was complete, you were covered from head to toe in red and black. While vanity is unproductive, you could not help but admire yourself in the training salle's mirrors. You had stripped completely and were turning to see all angles when the door opened.

Without a thought, on instinct alone, you summoned your saber and struck down the intruder. While you had planned on killing the tattooist later that day, you were disappointed to have done it before you had had the chance to congratulate the man on a job well done.

You picked up your clothes and left the room, calling the droid to clean up the mess.

~*~

You've always worn the same basic garments. Simple, black, made of natural fibers, replaced when worn or outgrown. Presumably another task of the droid. This morning when you wake, there are new clothes hanging on the hook. They too are black, but you can see from your cot that they are not the simple things you've worn before. You are up and touching them in an instant.

There are layers upon layers of fabric here. It's still a natural fiber, your touch tells you, but of a finer quality than you're accustomed to. You run your hands over the fine pleats in the outer cloak. Sashes and tabards and tunics... and at this moment you are glad your education included more than just combat and tactics.

At the end of your cot, previously unnoticed, are new boots. Sitting on top of them are gloves. You realize that your training is just starting again. You will have to relearn how to do everything while wearing these vestments. Proper Sith attire.

Your master must be on the planet, perhaps even in the compound. He hasn't yet seen your warrior's markings. You stroke the fabric of the cloak again, a moment of disappointment passing - nobody will be able to see the tattoos with all this clothing.

No matter. It is time to ready yourself for the day.

~*~

Lord Sidious is indeed in the compound. When you open your door, he is standing right outside. You immediately drop to a knee. He says nothing, merely turns around and walks toward the training salle, beckoning you with a small wave of his hand.

You follow slightly to the left and one step behind as befits an apprentice. Your master is dressed finely as well today. You spare a moment to wonder if perhaps the two of you are heading off-world. You have never left this world, but you know you must at some point if you are to fulfill your role.

He stops in the middle of the room and turns to face you.

"Kneel." His voice is soft, but it is no less commanding for lack of volume. You obey immediately. There is no hesitation.

"My fine young apprentice," he says as he lifts the cloak's hood off your head, keeping it clear of your horns. "Do you know what today is?" he asks.

"No, my Master. I do not." You bow your head, keeping your panic hidden; it is a weakness you cannot afford. Other than the time the tattoo artist was in the compound, you have never kept track of time beyond the hours of each individual day. Even then, you only knew how many days had passed, not which ones.

Lord Sidious smiles and strokes the side of your face with a gloved hand. You are confused. He has never touched you in such a manner; he has never touched you at all, for that matter. Prodded you, struck you, flung you - always with the Force, never with his hand. He lifts your chin gently. "It is your nameday."

"My Lord?"

"The nameday that counts." He pulls his hand back from your face and removes his gloves. He circles around you as he speaks. "I do not know the name your birthparents gave you, nor when. Nor do I care. Those things matter not.

"What does matter, is that it has been eighteen standard years since I brought you here. In that time, you have shown yourself worthy of my apprenticeship and the Sith tradition." He steps back from you and gestures to the far side of the room. "Go stand before the altar."

It looks to be stone, beautifully carved, about waist high. It looks vaguely familiar, like something you might have seen in your readings from the Archive. You get to your feet and walk to the altar, then turn to face your master. "No," he says. "Face the altar."

You do as you're told. You stand with your hands at your sides, head up, expecting your master to walk around to the other side. You are surprised by his voice in your ear.

"Now, my apprentice," he says. He is standing directly behind you, leaning into your body. He runs his hands down your sides, and you can't restrain the shiver when he speaks again. "Place your hands on the altar and lean forward."

You know nothing but obedience to your master. You follow your orders. You have no idea what is coming next. You've never been touched before, and you're feeling something you've never felt before - aroused. But you're frightened as well. It's an unfamiliar situation. Not dangerous exactly, but not quite what you would consider safe.

"Tell me, my fine apprentice, do these marks cover your entire body?" You don't recognize the tone at all. His hips are pressing into your buttocks, and through the layers of cloak and tunics you feel a hardness against your cleft.

"Yes, my Lord," you gasp as one of his hands cups your hardening penis. You feel his other hand busy behind you lifting and sifting through fabric.

"Good. I look forward to seeing them." The hand in front abruptly lets go, and you moan at the loss of sensation. Your master chuckles softly as you feel him pull back slightly. You realize he has bared your bottom when you feel the cool air of the room on your skin. You hear the sound of more fabric rustling before feeling hard flesh against your rear. He leans in and whispers, "You will receive my seed as you receive your name."

~*~

The next morning, Darth Maul receives his first mission.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://capra-maritimus.livejournal.com/profile)[capra_maritimus](http://capra-maritimus.livejournal.com/) and [](http://karitawyr.livejournal.com/profile)[karitawyr](http://karitawyr.livejournal.com/) for the comb-through. Any remaining mistakes or shudder-inducing prose are entirely my fault.


End file.
